


It Dangles on a String

by luzial



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Short One Shot, Solavellan, Valentine's Day Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 15:39:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9768515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luzial/pseuds/luzial
Summary: A sleepy Lavellan watches Solas paint and wonders when he will have had enough time to think things through.Valentine's Day Prompt: "solas and lavellan kiss like spider man and mary jane the tobey macguire version"





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to CityWolf for this Valentine’s Solavellan prompt! I had no idea how I was going to get from point A to point spideykiss.

Solas was lecturing while he painted. She doubted she’d ever seen him happier.

He was usually quiet while he was working on the frescoes in the rotunda, Lavellan had noticed. She’d watched him before - sometimes from the balcony above, only more recently from the sofa or the chair behind his desk. He smiled over his shoulder at her occasionally from his perch atop the scaffolding he had erected, and she imagined perhaps he enjoyed the company, however silent.

Things had been more silent between them as of late. His hesitant confession in the Fade, her impulsive response and his _memorable_ reaction had been forefront in her mind ever since. But the tightness in her stomach each time she saw him was becoming intolerable. So too was the nagging terror she felt each time they spoke, worried she would trip over her words or, worse, that she would say something that made him uncomfortable. Solas had asked for time and she’d given it to him. In truth, she’d needed the time as well.

Lavellan nodded along initially, listening with interest as he described the strange ‘shards’ they’d found nestled beneath rocky outcroppings and half buried in the mud all over Fereldan. Solas had never heard of nor seen anything like them before and their purpose eluded him - an affront he clearly could not allow to continue. She chimed in with her own theories now and again, and watched the back of his head as he nodded in agreement.

She tried to pay attention. The discovery of never-before-seen magic was fascinating, truly. But it was her first night back in Skyhold after a lengthy excursion in the Fallow Mire, where she’d spent days dragging her heavy boots through foul, dark waters, and long nights beneath sodden tents that leaked upon her forehead as she slept. She was exhausted, and before long she heard his voice fade from word to sound, its melodic rhythm drawing her further and further down on the sofa until she reclined completely across it, her head resting upon its arm.

With heavy-lidded eyes, she watched him drag wide swaths of color across the still-wet plaster, shapes quickly taking form beneath his skillful hands. Eventually, his movements became smaller, more deliberate, as he moved from background and landscape to figure and detail.  She found herself staring as his long fingers curled so gracefully around the wooden stem of his paintbrush, his grip delicate enough for the spiraling figures to ebb and flow freely, and yet rigid enough to ensure the precise control he desired.

 _Practiced_ , she thought as she chewed on her bottom lip.

She felt herself drifting away, her eyelids unbearably heavy and the sofa beneath her conspiratorially soft. The air in the rotunda was warm. The fabric of the sofa was warm. Her stomach and her toes and her hands were _warm_ as she heard the faint lapping of the paint against the wet plaster.

She didn’t realize she had dozed off until she felt careful fingertips brush across her forehead and curl down her cheek to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. When she opened her eyes, she blinked in confusion as she found she was staring up at an upside-down dimpled chin. Solas stood on the other side of the sofa’s arm, leaning over it to look down at her.

“Solas?” she tried to ask, but his name felt so heavy on her tongue.

He replied only with a soft _shh_ as his fingers found purchase at the back of her jaw and he drew his thumb across her cheek. She could not tear her gaze away from his eyes. She had memorized the curve and color of them, but inverted they were entirely new to her, tipped up at their corners now rather than down. The evening light in the rotunda danced in his irises, shining grey and violet and back again.

She breathed his name again as his thumb trailed across her chin, his touch gentle and insistent as he reached her bottom lip. Her heart thrummed in her ears as he parted her lips and traced their outline with an artist’s eye for form.

He leaned further down then, his chin hovering just above her nose and his lips tantalizingly close to her own. He smelled like paint and sweat and the honey that he always added to his drink, and she closed her eyes to breathe it in.

“Solas,” she whispered again even as he took her bottom lip between his, his kiss as urgent as his touch was soft. She kissed him in return - his chin, his lips - while his fingertips drew spirals down her neck. When she pressed her tongue between his lips, she felt his hand venture lower, his nimble fingers slinking below her tunic and tracing a careful circle around her-

“Inquisitor?”

Her eyes flew open as she inhaled loudly through her nose.

She was upright - mostly - on the sofa. Her head had sunk down to the palm of her hand, her shoulder perched on the armrest. Solas was across the room and staring. “Inquisitor?” he asked again.

“Y-yes?” she said, hating the blush she felt spreading across her cheeks and fighting to calm her breathing. Her heart felt nearly in her throat as she quickly crossed her arms over her chest.

“I thought you said my - I thought you said something.” He raised an eyebrow as he peered down at her from the top level of the scaffolding.

“I, uh -” she swallowed mightily and took another deep breath. “I meant only to say that I enjoyed our conversation, as always, but we should really - _I_ should really be getting to bed.”

“Of course,” Solas replied with a small smile, paintbrush still balanced elegantly between his fingers. “I apologize for keeping you.”

“It - it’s nothing,” she stammered as she stood and moved toward the door. “I look forward to continuing our conversation another day,” she managed before turning her back to him.

She was nearly out the door when she heard his voice echo through the otherwise quiet rotunda.

“Sweet dreams, Inquisitor.”


End file.
